


The Beast

by courgette96



Series: The small fics and small fills [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Cannibalism, Dark, I repeat Cannibalism, Like oh boy, M/M, i wrote this, it is dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6686146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courgette96/pseuds/courgette96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the victory comes the feast, and what else but meat for the predators?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beast

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to take this out of the Kink meme originally, because it is dark as hell and super short. But I re-read this, and actually kind of liked it, so here we are.  
> Also, you guys deserve to know what kind of person you chose to associate with.

When the armies are left in the dust, when the spacecrafts are rendered useless, when Generals leave the command deck, the war is left behind.

Beasts do not lead wars. They fight, brutally, unrelentlessly, beautifully until one stands above the remains of the other. Victorious. Superior.

Beasts do not have strategies, and how that would chafe at Hux, if the battle hadn’t lasted for hours. If he and Kylo, beast with two heads, hadn’t been attacking their former master for so long that lungs burned and mind fled, vision turned red and remained that way.

Blood in the eyes. So very messy, so very impractical, but for one so skilled at wielding a blaster, sight is hardly a consideration. For one so used to charging into battle, what does vision matter so long as the sensation of a sword digging into flesh is felt?

They fight, and they fight, and they are young and strong, and their once-leader is an old man. He bleeds, he tires, he weakens until savage, hungry beasts close in for the kill, take him down with a roar and a laugh.

And when they are done, when they stand panting over a corpse, when the room has gone silent apart from the clatter of their weapons on the ground, it all catches up to Hux. Hours of fighting and running with neither rest nor sustenance. Fighting only through sheer will power, but as the adrenaline fades away he returns to his own body, and feels vividly.

Bloodlust and hunger burn his insides, merge together in a sea of blood and sweat.

He _hungers._

And here before him lies a feast.

Exhaustion makes it easy to fall to his knees, but craving makes it natural to bend forward, rip away dark robes to expose the chest - the only part of this emaciated body to hold any meat - then to lean forward and _bite._

It jerks beneath him - not quite dead after all? - but what does it matter when there is blood on his tongue and flesh between his teeth? When there is food in his stomach and victory splattered on his skin?

Victory. Such a sweet taste. Not to be wasted as it pours from the old man’s open wound and stains Hux’s hands. He licks them, long, broad strokes that catch every drop. He throws his head back and moans.

To fight, to feed, and only one other thing until bliss.

From above him, on the other side of the corpse, his mate watches. Exertion made him flush, adrenaline made his pupils dilate, but it is nothing compared to now. All Hux sees is a red hue and black pools, twin abysses devoid of any Light but filled with so much more. All that has been done, all that has been taken, all that hasn’t been said but has been spoken through caressing hands and scratching nails.

Hux speaks them again, this time through a smile that has blood seeping between the teeth and a tongue that laps it back up.

Kylo falls to his knees in turn, grabs the carcass to him. Greedy, selfish, but Hux cannot find it in himself to care. Dark hair falls like a curtain, staining red at the tip, staining Hux’s fingers in turn when he runs them through black locks.

Kylo purs, leans into the touch, revealing a blood smeared mouth. Messy, still so messy.

Hux licks him clean.

His tongue hunts the taste, from where it dripped down a pale neck all the way to an always inviting mouth. Blood on Kylo’s tongue tastes sweeter somehow.

His mate kisses back with a hunger Hux understands all too well, so he lets himself be ravished in turn, mouth plundered for sustenance. He lets himself be consumed.

They could get drunk on this, but that is such an unwise course of action when the stomach is empty. So they break apart, and as Hux keens with satisfaction and need, Kylo’s strong fingers find dead flesh again, dig in and rip.

Fed from Kylo’s hand, the meat is more tender. And what he cannot chew - the tendons, the too elastic skin - he sucks on, eyes gleaming as he watches Kylo’s darken with lust and envy.

Soon. Soon. Hux will take out his knife if he must, will carve out his own cut to reciprocate the favor. Kylo will grip his wrist in a too tight hold, will suck on his fingers in his greed. Hux will let him, and when he is tugged forwards to be devoured anew, this time they will not stop.

Blood tastes of victory, blood tastes of life ; and while this body rots away, live they shall.

Fighting. Feeding.

Fucking.

They are the predator, the beast that won.

And only the Galaxy could assuage their hunger.


End file.
